


There Are Many Ways To Say I Love You

by seaofolives



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Ficlet Collection, M/M, Older Gladiolus Amicitia, Older Ignis Scientia, Other: See Story Notes, Shorts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 09:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30036867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaofolives/pseuds/seaofolives
Summary: a collection of gladnis shorts originally posted on twitter.(genres and warnings won't be indicated in the tags in the interest of avoiding a tag wall of death. all appropriate warnings will instead be specified in the story notes)
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	1. More Than Enough

**Author's Note:**

> happy to finally share this with a wider audience—the ficlet that started them all! i wrote this during my lunch break at work bc i was extremely frustrated about my project team and i wanted some comfort gladnis but a very _specific_ kind of comfort. and since i didn't know where to find it, i decided to write it myself for some extra catharsis. 👌🏼 so i hope it gives you guys the same kind of comfort i got from it! ❤️

He comes home ready to collapse. Ready to pretend that heʼs sick, that he would need to take the next day off so he can avoid his office and just spend all day in his husbandʼs shirt, creating recipes for his cookbook. He _wants_ to do it, he knows Gladio wants him to do it. 

But he wonʼt. He wonʼt because he doesnʼt shirk from his job, he wonʼt because his name isnʼt _Ignis Shirkientia_ and he wouldnʼt dare give them the satisfaction of watching him give. All the same, he wishes he could. Wishes he had one less bone in his spine, a lot less pride in what he did. 

“Ignis, you home?” his husband calls him from their bedroom. “I thought it was too late so I ordered some takeaway. Itʼll be here any moment.” 

He answers dispiritedly, “Okay,” and starts to undress himself, remove and distance himself from the office. And its frustrations, its incompetence, its everything. When dinner comes, he helps Gladio sort it out and sits next to him as he always does. But heʼs quiet, he eats but he doesnʼt compliment the food. 

Gladio knows heʼs unhappy. That even though he was home, dressed in his comfortable clothes, his mind lingers in the office, those meetings, those people who wouldnʼt listen. When he asks him, “There somethinʼ I can do?” Ignis doesnʼt answer—just smiles and shakes his head. 

“You wouldnʼt understand,” he tells his husband. Married though they were, he doesnʼt know his projects, the people he deals with aside from the prince. How disappointing they were, how they push him to a corner and expect him to nod his head meekly. Gladio offers a smile and nothing else. He understands he canʼt help. 

And thatʼs more than enough for Ignis. “Itʼs just,” he explodes all of a sudden, and Gladio puts down his bottle of beer to give him his full attention, “I feel very discouraged. They make me feel discouraged but if I give in, that makes me the bad one. If I work too hard, they tell me Iʼm wrong. Iʼm damned if I do and worse if I donʼt!” 

“Yeah,” Gladio tells him, nodding. “You’re right.” It doesnʼt help. Ignis is still angry, heʼs still upset by work. But at least Gladio is at his side. 

And thatʼs more than enough.


	2. Goodnight , Sleep Tight, Lover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the title was inspired from a song lyric that went "goodnight, sleep tight, stranger" but icn for the life of me remember the artist and song rn >.<

Every day, no matter how quickly or slowly it passed, this is how Gladio always ends it:

He locks the bedroom door, and checks thrice to make sure of it. Then he switches off the ceiling lights and turns on the lamp at his side of the bed—not too close that the citrine light would rouse his husband from sleep but not too far that he couldnʼt see by its effect if he needed to get up. 

Then he would remove these things in the following order: his glasses (folded to be left atop his nightstand), phone (set to vibrate just next to his pillow), pen and sylleblossom notebook (tucked into the drawer of the nightstand) and lastly, his magazine (whatever catches his fancy, tonight itʼs a food and home publication). 

Once having ascertained his husbandʼs comfort by tucking him into their shared blanket, Gladio administers one last part of his duty—a kiss on his forehead. To wish him goodnight, and sweeter dreams.


	3. That Kind of Morning

Rain patters gently onto his little herb garden beyond the windowsill. With the soup simmering into a tender boil and coffee grinding in guided revolutions, it makes for a quiet morning in an otherwise busy day. 

“Ooh, the hand grinderʼs out,” his husband notes, always an astute observer. He comes buoyed gently by flowers, leather and spicy wood until his broad chest is pressed up to Ignisʼ back like a comforter fresh from the laundry. Now all he needs is a warm cup of coffee and an actual day off and he would be in heaven. “Itʼs that kinda morning, eh?” 

“Indeed,” Ignis confirms with a contented smile, spinning away, the aroma of coffee painting the scenery. “Will you be staying for breakfast or must you be rushing off to the office?” 

“Of course Iʼm having breakfast here.” Gladio punctuates that with a kiss on his cheek. “Canʼt miss _this_ kind of morning.” 

He misses Ignisʼ brief grin as he heads off to the dining table past their kitchen. “Horoscope section?” he asks; he always puts the newspaper next to Ignisʼ place on the table. Sometimes, Ignis wants to get started with the headlines, other mornings, he prefers the aesthetics of the lifestyle section. So Gladio always asks and teases. 

“If you please,” he jests along, looking back over his shoulder to catch his husband, handsome in his council robes, reaching for their organizer of daily supplements. “I want to know my lucky color for the day.” 

“Says here itʼs amber,” Gladio says without pause, glancing back to wink at him. Amber like his eyes. 

Like roasted coffee beans. Ignis laughs quietly as he unscrews the grinder from the jar to smell the powdered coffee collected. Beautiful. Just like his husband. 

Today will be a good day.


	4. Mantis Scientia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think this was inspired by a shitpost on twitter about female mantises biting their mates' heads off during sex and ignis being equated to one so this is where the t+ rating comes in

“And if we do end up having sex,” Ignis whispers, hot breath tickling the thin layer of beard that frames Gladioʼs jaw, the cold steel of his dagger kissing his grateful throat. “I _will_ bite your head off.”

Gladio tries to think but his mind is muddled by _certain things_ heʼs feeling down there. And full of Ignisʼ mantis green eyes glimmering at him like a prey. For whatever it is worth, he can at least swallow his spit to clear his mouth. 

“Okay,” he starts cautiously. “…which head?”


	5. Ignis’ Shirt

“Oh, Gladio! I almost forgot, I have a surprise for you.” 

He says this, but Ignis has been counting down the hours, the minutes, the seconds until his alarm comes off and tells him it was time to _Give Gladio present_. In fact, he was already in the bedroom when his phone alerted him of this very important occasion. 

“‘sit my birthday?” Gladio calls back to him from where he sits by the living room, but Ignis doesnʼt answer. Instead, he opens the closet to change into one of his favorite shirts of Gladioʼs (it leaves him a bit chilly in the cool evening and if he doesnʼt mind the strap, his nipples show but that is besides the point), then grabs the paper gift bag sitting at the corner of his wardrobe. 

His husband is on the couch when he returns to him. Ignis takes his book from his hand (as Gladio laughs: “Are you wearing my shirt again?” As if Ignis owns any tank tops in the first place), pins the bookmark between the pages, then pulls Gladio up to his feet. 

Finally, he presents to him his surprise, which Gladio pries open in spite of the stapled ends to peer inside. “Of course you must wear it.” 

“Now?” Gladio pulls the item from within—a light gray shirt with half sleeves that looks plain at first glance—and lets the bag fall to their feet. He opens the wide shirt in front of him to read the text. “But it says here—” Finally, he makes the connection. 

He turns first to Ignis with his shirt on, and then back to the t-shirt in his hands. Ignis doesnʼt hold back his grin any longer when he throws his head back to guffaw, deft fingers securing the ends of Gladioʼs own tank top to pull it out of his trainers. “Wear it!” 

“But it says here—” Gladio chokes in his own spit, coughing a little to clear his throat before he points the simple blocky text on the gray shirt. “It says here _Ignisʼ Shirt!_ ” 

“I have no clothes that will fit you, and you have been very generous with yours,” Ignis begins to explain, because he must, of course, even where it is no longer needed. Still, he pushes Gladioʼs shirt off of him, forcing the man to finally obey. “So I thought I might remedy the situation.” 

“By buying me a shirt thatʼs supposedly yours.” 

“It says there that it is my shirt to begin with, does it not?” Ignis is preening at this point. As soon as Gladioʼs shirt is off, he claims it and brings the fabric to his nose, takes in the mixed scent of his perfume and his skin. 

Gladio shoots his arms through the gaping sleeves of his new shirt which falls to the middle of his thighs. It is the strangest shirt he has ever worn—several sizes too large, those sleeves possessing enough space perhaps for Ignis to still slip his own arms through, if he wants. 

It makes them laugh, both of them. “I look ridiculous!!” Gladio exclaims. 

“That is quite acceptable, considering it isnʼt your shirt to begin with.” The irony has become nothing but a ludicrous joke by now. It is possible that Ignis has just wasted his money on a piece of prop that his husband will never wear. 

There will be time to consider that. For tonight, the laughter makes it a good gift. Ignis brings his arms around his husband and holds him as if he were the softest plush any god could create.

**Author's Note:**

> i started writing gladnis ficlets on twitter 6 months ago and since then, i've somehow managed to amass over 30 of them so im finally doing the responsible thing of sharing them on here, too! if you want to look for the originals, check out @gladnisficlets on tw! wondering who i am there? im also @seaofolives on tw!


End file.
